


Peeling of a heart

by GreatMarta



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: Family Drama, Foster Family, Friendship, Merdette in later chapters, Post-Movie(s), Roman Catholicism, Trauma, foster child, mental crisis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatMarta/pseuds/GreatMarta
Summary: Following her mother's arrest, Camille finds herself in the custody of her aunt and uncle, who disapprove of ballet. As she struggles to figure out her life, Felicie attempts to comfort her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt at exploring the characters' post-movie fates. Mostly Camille-centric.

Standing in front of the gate to the Le Haut tenement, Félicie felt her courage evaporate. She had left the Opera with the strong resolve to see Camille, but was now beginning to wonder if this was a good idea. The other girl could very well be blaming her for the recent unfortunate events. If so, it would be wiser to stay away from her.

But I want Camille to know I’m there for her – thought Félicie. – If I were in her shoes, I’d want somebody to comfort me. Even if it were my enemy.

She very much preferred to think of herself as Camille’s friend, but it was probably too early for that.

The young ballerina sighed, becoming increasingly irritated with the complications that kept on piling up between her and the happy ending. She escaped the orphanage and reached Paris, but without much perspectives. She managed to get into ballet classes under a false name, but was found out. She was given a chance to participate in an audition, but failed miserably. Finally, at long last, she redeemed herself through a dance battle and was allowed to perform on stage. In an actual show. Beside the prima ballerina. In front of real audience. Everything was going so perfectly, but Félicie’s past just had to catch up with her yet again.

Right after the performance came to an end, the debutante was approached by two police officers. They wanted to know what had happened in Gustave Eiffel’s atelier, and how exactly Régine Le Haut ended up trapped in the scaffold.

At that moment, the floor seemed to have turned into an endless pit.

Flanked by Odette and Mérante, Félicie managed to subdue her anxiety and testify. Régine Le Haut attacked her, threw tools at her, threatened to cripple her. As the young ballerina revealed these facts, she felt her caretaker’s grip harden on her shoulder. It pained Félicie to make Odette worried, it pained her to recall the assault, but she told the inspectors the whole story. Victor, who noticed what was going on, helped her out. The officers were a little skeptical about the pigeon wings, but the boy showed them the invention and explained how it worked. They didn’t seem entirely convinced, but refrained from asking further questions. As it turned out, Félicie and Victor’s version matched the one provided by Mathurin. By all accounts, Régine Le Haut was the culprit. Gustave Eiffel had every intention of suing somebody for damages, but the woman could very well be convicted for attempted murder. Potential consequences included a life’s long penal servitude.

While Odette hugged Félicie protectively, whispering that everything would be okay, the redhead found herself worrying for Camille. The other girl had been there, she witnessed the whole thing, yet the inspectors made no mention of her. Concerned, the young ballerina pointed it out. One of the inspectors explained that the blonde girl wouldn’t answer any of their questions. They managed to establish she was Régine Le Haut’s daughter (Mathurin mentioned she’d call the woman ‘mother’), and were currently looking for other relatives who’d take this poor child into custody.

At this point Odette revealed that Camille had an aunt – the sister of her late father – and an uncle who taught literature at Sorbonne. Their names were Anouk and Gervais Vivier. The officers thanked her for the information and made their leave.

Félicie had wanted to seek Camille out there and then, but Odette forbade her. For one thing, miss Le Haut could only be released into the custody of her family, so there was no telling anybody else would be allowed to see her. Secondly, the blonde girl clearly needed some time to think everything over and come to terms with what had happened. After all, her mother had gone mad in front of her eyes and could very well be imprisoned for life. Those were all fair points, Félicie had to admit. It is never easy to be parted from your mother, even one as horrible as Régine Le Haut.

Several days later, Félicie’s anxiety prompted her to take action. The lack of information was driving her insane. She just had to check on her friend, consequences be damned!


	2. Chapter 2

According to Odette, Camille’s aunt was a solemn, stern individual. A proper Lady from a good home, who minded her words and movements, dressed modestly, and mastered the art of scolding people with mere glares.

“Let me put it this way” Odette had said, “when Madame Le Haut wanted me to scrub the floor, she’d say exactly this: ‘I want you to scrub the floor. Now.’. Madame Vivier would instead say something like: ‘Odette, I believe you should scrub the floor. Preferably sooner than later.’. It does sound better, I suppose, when you only consider the words. But the way Madame Vivier looked at me, I’d know that she meant it as an order, and one I had to fulfill right away” she winced at the memory. “It’s hard to explain. That woman just has this air of authority” she concluded, rubbing her temples.

Félicie wasn’t sure what to think of this Madame Vivier. The description provided by Odette was not exactly favorable, but at least it seemed like Camille’s aunt lacked the apparent cruelty of Régine Le Haut. That augured well for the future. 

With these thoughts in mind, our fiery heroine entered the courtyard of Le Haut tenement, headed for the door and knocked. Banged. So loud it must have echoed all over the building. This was it. No turning back. She was going to see Camille. Or die trying.

The door opened, and so did Félicie’s mouth.

In the doorframe stood Camille.

An older, taller Camille, with gray streaks in her hair and lines on her face.

Félicie was taken aback. This woman resembled Camille much more than the girl’s own mother. She had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, and the same shape of face. At the same time, her demeanor was as cold as that of Régine Le Haut. On top of that, she wore a dark green dress, so similar to that of the wicked woman. This combination was quite scary.

“Yes?” asked the woman, eying her guest sharply.

Félicie gulped. “Umh, hello” she uttered. “My name is Félicie Le Bras. I’m a friend of Camille. I’d like to see her”

The Lady of the house looked her up and down with critical eye. Félicie forced herself to smile, hoping to look as presentable as possible. Still, she couldn’t help sweating profoundly. She was beginning to understand what Odette had meant with this ‘air of authority’.

Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the strange woman invited her in. The young redhead breathed a sigh of relief. One obstacle less in her quest.

They headed for the stairs. The hostess made Félicie walk first, never once letting her eyes off her. It wasn’t the kind of attitude that supported friendliness, but the young ballerina found it fitting to try and get to know this new person. After all, Odette had been less than pleasant when they first scrubbed these very stairs together, and now they got along great. Besides, the idea of walking four or so stories up in complete silence was unbearable.

“So,” started Félicie, “are you Camille’s aunt?”

“I am” said the woman indifferently. “Anouk Vivier, formerly Anouk Le Haut. My late brother was Camille’s father”

Félicie nodded in acknowledgment. Camille clearly got her looks from her father’s side of the family. “You look a lot like her”

The woman appeared annoyed with the statement. “I’d say it’s the other way round” she remarked. Thereupon she considered her guest with a questioning look. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to be the girl who danced Clara in the Nutcracker, would you?”

Félicie perked up. Ballet was something she was always eager to talk about, especially one she participated in. “Yes, that’s me. You’ve seen the show? It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Madame Vivier did not share her guest’s enthusiasm. “In all honesty, ballet is not my cup of tea” she confessed. “I remembered Camille’s mother screaming something along the lines of ‘Curse you, Félicie’ and ‘that wretched ginger piece of trash’ when we visited her at the police post” she revealed, her tone as flat as if it didn’t concern her at all. “I assume she must have been referring to you”

An uncomfortable feeling stirred within Félicie. She suddenly wished she had brought along Odette, or Victor, or just about anybody so she didn’t have to face this woman alone. “I… guess so…” she muttered, not really knowing how to respond.

Madame Vivier’s expression seemed to have softened the tiniest bit, revealing subtle hints of sympathy. “To think Régine would assault a little girl” the woman mused. “And for such a trivial reason. How very pathetic” she concluded, shaking her head ever so slightly.

Félicie was confused. “So… you’re not angry at me?” she inquired.

“No, child” Madame Vivier’s voice raised, though insignificantly, indicating frustration. “I’m angry at Régine. She’s shamed my family and possibly ruined my niece’s future” she let out a weary sigh and continued in her preferred, collected manner. “One would think a grown woman should know that revenge is a dish best served cold”

The statement, though delivered quite bluntly, almost stopped Félicie’s heart. The contrast between what this woman was saying and how she was saying it was alarming, to say the least.

Fortunately, they have now reached their designated floor. Having realized this, Félicie regained enough of her spirit to melt off the frost left in her veins by Madame Vivier’s words. She has completed another challenge in her quest. From this moment on, everything was bound to be easy.


	3. Chapter 3

Madame Vivier lead Félicie to the door to Camille’s bedroom and knocked at it. “Camille, you have a guest” she announced. “Félicie Le Bras”

A moment later the door opened.

Félicie’s shock at seeing Camille was so great she almost let out a gasp. The blonde girl was slim to begin with, but she has since become even thinner. Her skin has lost all color – with the exception of the under-eye area, which was noticeably dark. On top of that, the expression on her face was weary, and her hair a mess. She looked as if she were sick.

Remembering the purpose of her visit, Félicie tried to put on a brave face. “Hi Camille. How are you feeling?” she inquired with all the casualty she could muster. The last thing she wanted was to make the other girl feel uncomfortable.

The young miss Le Haut hesitated. “I’m… managing, I guess”

“May I come in?”

Again, Camille hesitated, albeit briefly. “Yes, please” she stepped back, allowing her guest to enter. Simultaneously, she turned to Madame Vivier. “You may return to your matters, aunt. I’ll be fine”

“As you wish” said Madame Vivier. “But please walk your guest to the door when you’re finished”

Camille nodded obediently. “Yes Ma’am”

The girls were thus left alone in Camille’s bedroom. Much like the rest of the building, this room was luxurious. There was a huge satin canopy bed with draperies, a soft thick carpet on the floor, a big wardrobe decorated with intricate carvings, a vanity with an impressive mirror in a shiny frame, plus shelves loaded with fancy dolls, colorful flasks, and things Félicie couldn’t name. It hit her just how out of place Camille seemed in the middle of such wonders, looking as miserable as she did.

The blonde girl sat on her bed. “Why did you come here?” she asked unpassionately.

“To check on you” replied Félicie, coming closer. “I was worried”

Camille looked up. “Really?” she asked, puzzled.

“Really-really” Félicie nodded eagerly, taking a seat next to the other girl. “We’re friends, right?” she asked, flashing a charming smile.

Camille smiled briefly in return, but then her expression dropped. “How can you say this?” she asked in disbelief. “My mother tried to kill you”

Félicie shrugged. “So what? It wasn’t your fault” suddenly inspired, she added: “You were trying to stop her. I should be thanking you. So, yeah: thank you. For trying to save me. I appreciate it”

Camille searched her face, as if trying to determine if she was being genuine. Félicie kept on smiling, sending intense happy thoughts her way. Camille shifted uncomfortably, gathering the material of her skirt into her fists.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her. I…” she grimaced, agitated. “It’s… it’s my fault” she blurted, her eyes wide in terror. “Because of me….”

“No! Not at all!” assured Félicie, shaking her head vigorously. Dang, this wasn’t good!

“But it’s true!” cried Camille as her internal dam broke. “If I were a better dancer…!”

“You are a GREAT dancer!” exclaimed Félicie, jolting upwards and grabbing the other girl by the shoulders. “You are strong, precise, and your technique is perfect! Odette says so, and she knows what she’s talking about!”

Camille gaped at her, stunned by the fierce reaction. An anxious second later, she tried to speak again. “But Mérante said…”

“That you’re brave and honest!” insisted the redhead. “And that you have a future at the Opera! You remember that, don’t you?” she stared down at her friend, as if in challenge.

Camille looked down and didn’t say anything.

Félicie sighed in frustration. This was so messed up. Just what in the world had happened to Camille? How could this bold, confident girl have become such a wreck? She seemed so lost, so bitterly sad, so detached…

So much like…

A realization hit Félicie, and it hit her hard. She has experienced almost exactly the same thing. Was painfully taught of her own limitations. Got separated from the woman she started to view as family. Had her dreams torn to pieces by the cruel reality.

She looked at Camille and saw herself.

‘I’m such an idiot’ she scowled mentally.

Feeling a surge of compassion, she knelt in front of her friend, took her hands in hers, and addressed her with a tone full of understanding.

“I know how you feel. When I was taken back to the orphanage, it was as if the world had ended. I had failed Odette, Merante, Nora, pretty much everybody who ever believed in me. I felt like the biggest loser in the history of losers. It was horrible” she winced at the memory.

Camille was captivated. “And what did you do?” she asked, her interest vivid.

Encouraged by the reaction, Félicie continued. “I pulled myself together” she explained. “I thought, if such amazing people believed in me, then I must be worth something. I wanted them to know I was okay, and would be okay even if I never got to dance in actual show. And guess what? It was enough”

At this point, the redhead smiled at her friend fondly. “It’s a pity your mom ended up the way she did, but it’s no reason for you to give up on yourself. She wouldn’t have wanted that. Who knows, if she knows you’re doing okay, maybe it will make her feel better. What do you think?”

She looked up at her hopefully.

Camille took a while to ponder on it, but this pause was not as heavy as the ones before. This time the blonde girl seemed peaceful, touched, perhaps even elated. It appeared that a heavy weight has been lifted off her heart. And when she finally spoke up, a shy smile brightened her face.

“I guess so” she admitted, her relief evident. “Thank you, Félicie”

The other girl beamed. “You’re welcome” she replied, happy beyond reason. She then lifted herself off the floor and took a seat next to Camille. “So, you’re going to return to the classes?”

Camille’s smile dropped. “I… I don’t know” she confessed. “My aunt thinks it’s not a good idea”

“Your aunt is wrong” declared Félicie, getting fired up. “Tell you what, I’ll tell Mérante to tell her what a talented dancer you are! She’s gonna have no choice but to let you attend!”

Camille chuckled. “Right” In a more serious, albeit reassuring tone, she added: “You know, Félicie, I appreciate your help, but I’m not really sure what is it that I want. I really need some time to think this over. So please, don’t do anything just yet. It just won’t end well”

Félicie sighed. Apparently, her plans were a little too ambitious. It irked her she wouldn’t be getting a definite ‘yes’ on the matter, but at least she wasn’t getting a definite ‘no’. All things considered, this wasn’t a bad outcome. “Well, okay” she conceded. “Whatever you say. When you know what you want, tell me. I’ll be there for you”

Camille nodded, content with the arrangement. “Sure”

It may have been a small step for Miss Le Bras, but for Miss Le Haut it was enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Camille waited for questions like a prisoner waits for beheading. Aunt Anouk will want to know what Félicie had wanted, that was for certain.

What should I tell her? – wondered Camille.

Félicie wanted to know how I was doing. She told me she wasn’t blaming me for what had happened and that she was there for me.

It sounded innocent enough when put that way. If she says just that, she will essentially be telling the truth. With any luck, such a testimony will prove sufficient and there will be no need to bring up her reassuming ballet lessons. This was a topic Camille did not feel ready to discuss. She couldn’t even identify the feelings she associated with it. By contrast, she was painfully aware that Aunt Anouk didn’t like ballet – disapproved of it, in fact. This has long since been the bone of contention between her and Camille’s mother. Madame Vivier argued that no respectable woman allows herself to be seen in the kind of garments ballerinas wear, nor exploits her body to the enjoyment of complete strangers. She’d try to discourage her sister-in-law from ‘sacrificing this poor child’s dignity for the sake of questionable esteem’, but Madame Le Haut was deaf to her pleas.

“I know what I am doing, Anouk” she’d say with complete confidence. “Camille is not like those pathetic poor girsl who fight amongst themselves for the attention of patrons. She has a bright future in front of her”

To this, Madame Vivier would sigh wearily. “I guess you should know” she’d admit reluctantly.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, Régine”

“I do hope so. I won’t be insulted in my own house”

“Régine, I wouldn’t dream of insulting you”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You have about as much willpower as a well-trained dog. You let your parents plan your entire life for you. I bet you’d marry a chimpanzee if they told you to. I took matters into my own hands. I worked hard to get to where I am today, and I expect the same from Camille. I will not tolerate anything less than perfection. That’s why my daughter is going to be famous while your sons will never raise above the average”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Our Lord works in mysterious ways. Although, if I may be honest with you, I am going to be satisfied if my boys become productive members of the society, and find respectable brides, who will improve their reputation rather than ruin it”

“Get out. NOW!”

This was the kind of conversations that took place between Camille’s mother and aunt, which Camille sometimes eavesdropped on. She didn’t understand much of what was being said, but the contrast between her mother’s passionate dominance and Aunt Anouk’s calculated calmness was something that always amazed her. As a child, she’d wonder how her father’s sister could remain so calm and polite when her mother was assaulting her verbally, seething with anger and getting worked up over the most innocent things she said. Now that she was older she realized that Regine’s anger was not entirely unprovoked. Aunt Anouk insulted her too, only in much more subtle ways, using refined references, allusions and double entendre.

Analyzing those two strategies Camille felt uneasy. Régine might have been scary, but it was a familiar kind of scary. Aunt Anouk brought fear to a whole new level. She was effortlessly eerie. Which was why Camille was reluctant to converse with her, even more so discuss ballet. It just wouldn’t end well.

Madame Vivier further established her reputation as a mysterious figure by not summoning Camille immediately after Félicie’s departure. Camille wondered if her aunt was just busy, or perhaps expecting her to report without being told to. What was the correct course of action? She just couldn’t decide. And she missed her mother, with whose mannerisms and methods she was well accustomed.


	5. Chapter 5

Whether it was a fortunate turn of events or not, Camille’s aunt did not call for her until dinner. This was another novelty in the girl’s routine, for she now had to dine in quite a crowd – Madame Vivier and her husband had three sons, aged 16, 14 and 5, and they all have moved in after Madame Le Haut was arrested. Even though these people were Camille’s blood relatives and she could easily pass for their daughter and sister, their company did not relieve her from the feeling of abandonment. Quite contrary, when sitting amongst them, she felt more isolated than ever. The five of them constituted a complete family unit, in which her presence was irrelevant. One could say their arrival had rendered her a stranger in her own house.

Tormented by such grim thoughts, the girl lost all the appetite. Aunt wouldn’t let her leave the table until she’s consumed at least as much as the youngest son in the family, so she forced herself to eat. She chewed slowly, barely feeling any taste. Even the smallest chunks seemed to be scratching her throat when she swallowed. She may very well have been trying to devour rocks.

It was amazing how such a basic activity could become so horribly difficult over such a short period of time.

Tonight however, before she could really experience any of her usual difficulties, Camille was addressed by her uncle – a man of ghostly pale complexion, thin hair and deep-set eyes. “So, Camille, how was your day?” he asked in a kind tone.

She hesitated. If she mentions Félicie, she’d have the whole family’s undivided attention, which was the last thing she wanted. Yet, if she doesn’t speak up, Aunt Anouk will do it for her. It was better to get it over with and not act like she had anything to hide.

“It was good” she stated cautiously. She took a moment to glance at Madame Vivier, and discovered that the matron was eating as usual. It seemed like she was indeed expecting her niece to speak for herself. Thus, Camille added: “A friend visited me today”

“Oh” Gervais Vivier perked up. “Do tell? What a pleasant surprise”

Renaud, the 14-year old, leaned closer to Camille. “Was it a boy or a girl?” he asked, his golden-bronze eyes shining with vivid interest.

“Girl” said Camille. “Félicie”

Renaud sighed dreamily. “Such a pity I wasn’t there. I could have thanked her for showing you concern”

“It is therefore fortunate that you were absent” remarked Gérard, the eldest brother. “You could have scared the poor maid”

“You wound me, brother” replied Renaud with mock hurt expression. “I am nothing but respectful of maidens”

Gérard sighed. “I’m afraid your definition of ‘respectful’ does not match mine, dear brother”

It wasn’t the only difference between the two boys. Gérard had their father’s thin silhouette, but looked much healthier, with smooth skin and shiny hair in the color of dark chocolate. He also had his mother’s blue eyes. Renaud was stockier and his hair significantly lighter, falling into auburn. While his father’s eyes were a solid dark shade of brown, his had a warmer, golden hue.

As for the boys’ father, he happened to be stroking his chin in thoughtfulness. “Félicie? You would not be referring to the poor girl your mother sought to eliminate, would you?” he asked his niece.

“The very same” Camille confirmed grimly. She was beginning to develop a sinking feeling about this conversation.

Uncle Gervais was slightly alarmed. “I imagine this must have been an unpleasant conversation you two had” he said, his tone cautious and full of concern.

Camille shook her head. “Félicie just wanted to know how I was doing. She was worried for me, not angry”

“Oh?” Monsieur Vivier was instantly elated. “Well, that’s good to hear. You must have been relived”

“Yes” nodded Camille, slightly livelier. She was beginning to believe that her friend’s visit may not bring about unpleasant consequences after all.

But then, Madame Vivier let out a loud sigh.

“Such a pity” she mused, as she refilled her youngest son’s glass. “Félicie appears to be an essentially good child, and yet she’s walking the most fatal of roads. We may only pray she does not end up becoming a lose woman”

At these words, Camille broke into cold sweat. Her sentence had not been annulled, she realized, merely delayed. This dinner was not going to end well, this was for certain.

“Oh, yes” Uncle Gervais nodded solemnly. “She is a ballerina. This is unfortunate indeed”

Meanwhile the youngest of the boys, the 5-year-old Lucien, glanced from his mother to his father, trying to make sense of what was being said. Being fair-haired and blue-eyed, he looked more like Camille’s brother than Gérard’s or Renaud’s. “Wha’s a loose woomin, Mama?” he asked.

Madame Vivier leaned closer to the child, putting on the expression of utmost care and tenderness she only had for him. Lucien was her precious baby, and one of the few things that could bring a genuine smile to her face. “A loose woman is a woman who sins and expects to get paid for it” she explained softly.

The boy frowned in confusion. “But sin is bad”

“Yes, mon brave” nodded his mother. “When you accept monetary benefits – or any benefits, in fact – for committing sins, you make your heavenly father sad and the devil happy. That’s why you must never do so, Lucien. You must be a good boy, obey the divine laws, and remind your friends to do the same. Then you will make the God happy. Can you do this for me, my angel?”

“Yes, Mama” nodded the boy dutifully. “I will nevah be a loose woomin, I plomise!”

Madame Vivier chuckled and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Monsieur Vivier smiled lightly, touched by the tender scene. He had a really charming, warm smile, that took a decade off his weary face. To Camille, it felt like the sun that shone through a bitterly cold Winter day. The analogy fit, even more so that the dining room reminded her of a frost-covered, pitch-dark cave.

The impression only deepened when Uncle spoke, his voice interwoven with resignation.

“I must confess, as much as Félicie’s fate saddens me, I am profoundly grateful for the divine intervention that lead her to the Opera. If she hadn’t appeared, our poor little Camille could have been included in the performance”

‘Poor little Camille’ looked down, refusing to meet his sympathetic eyes. It irked her to be regarded with pity. She was feeling enough like a charity case without it.

“Oh, that would have been disastrous” agreed Gérard, oblivious to his cousin’s feelings. Camille realized she was tensing, and way worse than usual in such circumstances. It was nowhere short of frightening.

“Fortunately,” remarked Madame Vivier, “we offered prayers on behalf of Camille, and Good Lord decided to be merciful”

Ignorant of her niece’s worsening condition, the matron put on the air of utmost seriousness and spoke, dividing her attention between her sons.

“You must never underestimate the power of prayer, my darlings. The Heavenly Father loves all men equally, but the devil is strong. Do not think for one second you are safe from his clutches. Only those who acknowledge their sinful nature and pledge their lives to the Almighty Lord stand a chance against the forces of darkness. This is why it is so important for you to study the Holy Bible and thank God for every smallest blessing you receive. Remember this, my sons, and remember it well – the Heavenly Father will provide you with everything you need, if only you ask properly and live by the rules he laid down for you”

A very solemn silence followed these words, silence thick with reverie, dignity, and grandeur. Even Camille’s nerves silenced for a moment, as her brain struggled to analyze Aunt Anouk’s words, tone, and body language in the context of what had already been said at the table.

The woman attributed Camille’s fate to her praying.

She basically said her prayers saved Camille from becoming a ballerina.

She did… did she…?

“Your speech touched the very core of my being, Mother” said Gérard respectfully. “I shall seek to do as you instructed”

Lucien, who didn’t quite understand what was going on, decided it was best to follow in his eldest brother’s footsteps. “I be a good boy, Mama” he assured.

“I agree with my predecessor” added Renaud without much enthusiasm.

Madame Vivier nodded in acknowledgement. “I shall keep you in my prayers, boys” was her comment.

Meanwhile Camille’s brain was swelling with interpretations, each worse than the one before. Her head was spinning and her muscles seemed to be pulling at her bones, as if in attempt to wrestle the control of her body away from her. Any moment now she’d be reduced to a ball of tangled nerves. Still, she hung on every word with her heart in her throat. She needed to be aware of how exactly her family mistreated her, even if it killed her.

“Perhaps we should pray for Félicie” suggested Gérard, suddenly inspired.

“Oh, yes” agreed his father solemnly. “The poor, misguided maiden”

Meanwhile Renaud had a different idea. “Why limit ourselves to prayer? We may do so much more. I, for one thing, could save one of such unfortunate maidens from her disastrous fate. She won’t have to sell herself if I make her my proper wife”

The boy grinned at his own cleverness while his relatives sighed and shook their heads.

“Renaud, my son, I have not been nourishing your spiritual nature enough” sighed Monsieur Vivier, regarding the boy with a long suffering look. “I shall require you to devote more time to studying the God’s word and less to romantic novels”

Reaction produced by Madame Vivier was firmer. “There is still so much of child-like naivety to you, dear boy” she chastised the youth. “You need to understand that one does not find fresh apples in the dumpster. If you wish to find a good apple, the wisest course of action is to pick it directly from the tree”

At these words, Camille froze. The commotion in her brain died out and the tension in her muscles evaporated. So strong was her shock. So terrifying the direction in which this conversation was heading. Aunt Anouk couldn’t possibly be implying… she wouldn’t be referring to…? No, she couldn’t be THIS insensitive, right? RIGHT? 

“But mother, I am perfectly fine with picking an apple from the ground” assured Renaud. “I can clean it before I eat it. If there are rotten parts, I’ll cut them out. That’s no problem at all” he said, as if honestly wasn’t that big of a deal.

His conviction did not please his mother one bit. “You’d have to consume most carefully, if such were the case” she insisted. “And still, you could end up consuming a rotten part, getting sick, or even dying of poisoning”

Camille suddenly rose, pushing her chair so hard it almost fell over. The entire Vivier family gaped at her, taken aback. The girl was furious. If she had felt like an ice statue before, she now was beginning to feel like the ice was cracking, revealing a sleeping volcano beneath. A volcano that had been building up lava for far too long.

“Don’t make the same mistake as your uncle Etienne, is that what you meant to say?” she muttered, setting her eyes on Madame Vivier. “Don’t pick up a rotten apple like your aunt Régine, that is your message to Renaud, is it not?”

Madame Vivier was lost for words. Her husband and sons were stunned. Meanwhile Camille’s self-control was being blown away like dandelion seeds.

“What? You thought I wouldn’t catch on?” she sneered at the older woman, enjoying the first taste of triumph since the Vivier family moved in. “You hate my mother. You think she seduced my father and ruined his life. Don’t try denying it! I’m not as stupid as you think I am!” she exclaimed, letting rage lit her brain and blot everything else. “I won’t be insulted in my own house! I won’t let anybody insult my mother! Or my friends, for that matter! Some nerve you got, pitying Félicie and calling her a lose woman when she’s so much purer than all of you together! She is honest, genuine, she has a good heart! So what is she’s a ballerina?! She at least had the decency not to speak ill of my mother in front of me, which is more than can be said about you!”

They were all staring at her.

“And guess what? I am going to keep on dancing, with or without your consent”

To hear herself say these words out loud was nowhere short of amazing. She realized with some surprise that she actually meant them. She wanted to keep on dancing. She missed it. All this time she had been so bitterly jealous of Félicie, of her passion, of the open and careless joy with which she moved. It was a strange realization. So bizarre, and yet so reliving. So empowering. Like a fresh breeze on a hot day. Like the feeling of accomplishment that washed over her when somebody praised her performance.

Oh yes. It felt good.

Cherishing her newfound strength, Camille glared at her aunt, daring her, challenging to defend herself. – ‘Pick up the glove, old hag, and slap me with it. Show me just how righteous you are’.

But Madame Vivier did not speak. She did not get angry. She was thoughtful, resolute, and unimaginably calm. There even was a hint of vulnerability in her mimic.

Finally, she stood up, in a perfectly collected manner. Though she now was looking at her niece from above, her expression did not change. And the response she finally offered was delivered with utmost care, signaling conscious consideration behind every word that left her mouth.

“I do believe Régine took advantage of Etienne. Used him to better her station. I am however not that naïve to believe she could have succeeded if he wasn’t such a pathetic fool. He was well aware of her true intentions, but it didn’t bother him the tiniest bit. In his own mind, he was the one using her, not the other way round. The possibility of this woman, so ‘charming in the way she imitated intelligence’, bending such a magnificent man as himself to her will, never once crossed his conceited mind. So he danced to the tune Régine played him, all the time believing he was the one in charge”

At this point Anouk Vivier grimaced, her features tainted by bitterness. “Such a fool he was, this unfortunate brother of mine. So arrogant, so convinced of his own infallibility. But he was my brother and I loved him. No, that wouldn’t be right. Etienne may be gone, but my love for him is not. I will keep him in my thoughts, and my heart, as long as I live”

Putting her hands on her niece’s shoulders, she added: “And I will care for you, Camille. Even if you hate me, I will be there for you. Although I strongly insist that you keep your dancing a private matter. Practice it in your rooms, if you have to, but not out in the open. I would never forgive myself if I let you expose yourself to the attention of those heinous patrons. You understand, don’t you?”

It was Camille’s turn to be stunned.

Twice today she’d experienced a feeling of a dam breaking inside her, a violent and devastating eruption that shook her very soul. Right now, however, she was deprived of negative feelings like anger or guilt that could have a similar effect. Her interior seemed more like a calm, steady river, that carried away the last bits of ice floe as it melted in the warming waters.

She didn’t know how to handle this sensation.

Seeing her confusion, Madame Vivier offered a shy smile. It was a smile of gentle reassurance, a subtle sign of goodwill. A smile that said ‘I am not your enemy. I had never meant to be your enemy’.

‘I don’t need to fight’ – realized Camille. ‘I don’t need to be afraid’

With these thoughts, a wave of relief washed over her. And found its outlet in her eyes.

When Aunt Anouk embraced her, she didn’t resist. She hugged her back and let the tears flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reference guide to OCs in this story:
> 
> Etienne Le Haut - Camille's father, deceased.
> 
> Anouk Vivier, nee Le Haut - Etienne's sister, currently in charge of Le Haut businesses.
> 
> Gervais Vivier - Anouk's husband, teaches literature at Sorbonne.
> 
> The sons of Anouk and Gervais: Gerard (16), Renaud (14), Lucien (5)


	6. Chapter 6

If you said ‘A’, you have to say ‘B’. Camille had said ‘I am going to keep on dancing”, so keep on dancing she would, to prove herself as a woman of her word, if nothing else. The following day she entered her training room, for the first time since her mother’s imprisonment. The cleaning Lady – Odette’s successor – had been keeping it clean, and everything looked exactly as Miss Le Haut remembered. It was reassuring, to a point. Camille may have preferred it if the interior of her sanctuary was more in tune with the interior of her mind, but she wasn’t going to ponder on the issue. She came here to act, not think.

She changed into a dancing outfit, taking the time to examine her pointe shoes. The simple activity did stir any sort of emotions within her. No anger, no sadness, no happiness, nothing. It was disappointing.

‘I better stretch’ she decided. ‘It’s been a while since I danced, so I better be careful’.

Deeming it the most fitting course of action, she got down to the business. She proceeded slowly, meticulously, increasing the pressure gradually. One would think she was warming a piece of iron, judging the temperature with her bare eyes, careful not to miss the best possible moment to start beating it into the desired shape. It almost seemed like she wanted to push away the actual dancing.

Maybe it was precisely the case.

‘You are cold as lard’

The words echoed in her skull.

Okay. So she was not good at showing emotions. Now that she realized what her problem was, she could start solving it.

But how?

Discouraged, Camille looked at the mirror. There was a time she saw herself as a star, a bright light that caught everybody’s eyes and illuminated the room. What she saw now was an empty shell, with not a spark of potential.

She had become what she once deemed Félicie to be. The Félicie who now danced beside the prima ballerina and lived the life Camille had planned for herself.

She may have found this funny, if it concerned somebody else.

‘But I have the right technique’ she told herself. ‘I’ve been doing this for years, I could do this in my sleep. I just have to start’

With that, she assumed the first position. She went through all the basic positions. It pleased her, to have made this transition and finally be getting somewhere.

Then she looked at herself in the mirror, and all she saw were faults.

There she was, a well-seasoned veteran, satisfied with pulling off the most basic movements known to ballet.

It was not an inspiring view.

She wanted to cry.

What on Earth was wrong with her? What was the big deal? Why was she getting so emotional over such trivial matters?

Could it be that she couldn’t do this anymore? That she was nothing without her mother hovering above her?

All of a sudden, a chill ran down her spine.

‘Up, down! Up, down!’ her mother’s words rang in her skull.

She lifted her leg up, high above her ear. Up and down, up and down, picking up a fast pace.

‘Good! Don’t stop!’

Camille felt her teeth gritting. There was a bitter taste in her throat, an ache in her heart and a strange kind of pain in her muscles. As if she were cold, or sick, or extremely tired.

Something was not right. VERY not right.

‘Get a grip!’

Molten hot tears blocked her view. She threw her head back to shake them off.

‘Tired is for losers! I am going to get that part!’

‘Oh no, you won’t!’

Camille leaped into action like a tiger released from its cage. She jumped and turned, and every movement seemed to break a stitch in her soul.

God gracious, was it liberating.

‘I am not your puppet!’ she screamed in her mind. ‘I am not a doll! I am your daughter, for crying out loud!’

She spun around the room, smoothly switching positions and pulling off figures. Every landing she nailed seemed like a swing of a hammer against an invisible cage, a cage she was bent on tearing apart.

‘So I am not the daughter you wanted! But whose fault is it?! I didn’t raise myself, you know!’

She flawlessly reached the croisé plié position and started a series of fouettés, lowering herself on her pivotal leg and whipping her working leg to increase her momentum. She felt an urge to drill a hole in the floor, or break the ceiling, or launch herself to wherever the hell they were keeping her mother.

‘Curse you, mother! Why did you have to lose your mind and ruin my life?! Why wasn’t I enough to keep you sane?!’

She jumped, spinning like a dandelion in the wind. She changed direction, twisting her body like a candlelight flame.

‘I hate you! Hate you! Hate you!’

A turned-out plié here, a turned-in plié there, then a spectacular jump to the other end of the room.

‘But I’m worried sick for you!’

Another fouetté.

‘Jesus Christ, I miss you so much!’

Arms extended, as if in hope of reaching something unattainable. Like peace of mind. Or her mother’s love.

Camille spun with her mouth open, giving way to feelings she couldn’t put into words. She spun and spun, and incomprehensible sounds shot out like bats from a cave. She spun on, her lungs burning from the shortage of oxygen.

Finally, as she reached the verge of losing consciousness, she dropped onto the floor.

Panting, she knelt, allowing herself to relish the tantalizing illusion induced by her worn out mind. A gentle humming stroked her ears. The droplets of sweat emerging from her skin seemed to be washing away her frustrations, reminiscent of water streams that carry debris from the deepest layers of Earth. Her body relaxed, as it purified itself off the toxic rage, which seemed to have taken the form of vapors. And just like delicate magnolia petals, the peelings of her heart, which she released in the angry fit, gently floated down.

Camille felt better than she had in days.

She was free. Purified. Reassured.

It was a perfect moment.

Suddenly she realized she wasn’t alone.

The door to her training room was ajar. In the opening stood Lucien, her youngest cousin. He looked as if he’s seen a ghost.

Slightly alarmed, Camille stood up and approached him. “Lucien? Is everything okay?“

He took a moment to formulate a response. “Was that?” he muttered, keeping his eyes wide open and glued to her face.

It hit her that he wasn’t scared, but thoroughly impressed. The expression he wore was that of absolute awe. The performance she pulled off must have touched him to the core.

“Oh. I was dancing” explained Camille. “I said I was going to keep dancing, do you remember?”

She was a little anxious, admittedly. Meanwhile, Lucien was focused. “Dancing” he repeated. Camille could practically see the tiny wheels in his developing brain spinning as he processed the new concept. “Dancing… more?”

“Umh, what?”

“Do more dancing” said Lucien. “Please”

Camille hesitated. Her aunt and uncle would not appreciate her showing ballet to their precious baby. But then, he has already seen her, and he was so vividly interested in the topic. If she doesn’t satisfy his curiosity, he will pester his parents. Moreover, the idea of having an audience was intriguing. Perhaps this little boy could be of use to her.

“Alright” conceded Camille, honoring her cousin with a gentle smile. “I’ll show you how it’s done”

Lucien proved to be a diligent student. He clapped as Camille landed her jumps. He tried to spin around with her, and didn’t mind falling onto his butt. She showed him how to stretch, and noticed that he was pretty flexible. At some point he started to swing her spare pair of pointes by the ribbons, but one warning was enough to make him stop. Overall, the two of them have had a great time.

“When I grow up, I want to be a ballerina!” declared Lucien when they were done.

Camille doubted his parents would be happy to hear this, but she couldn’t be bothered to care at the moment. There was somebody in her family who shared her passion and that was all that mattered.


	7. Chapter 7

Odette has had a bad feeling about this visit even before she received the invitation. Madame Vivier approached her at the Opera, which was a surprise by itself, but the situation didn’t seem concerning until they’ve had the following conversation.

Madame V.: ‘I regret to impede you in your duties, Odette, but there are matters that must be addressed, preferably sooner than later’

Odette: ‘Of course, Madame’

Madame V.: ‘Not here, though. The matters in question are of private nature, and should not be discussed in public. I shall require you to frequent my family home. Is there a day in the week you could spare to leave this establishment for an hour or two?’

It was at that point that Odette developed a sinking feeling. She could hardly utter an answer, and as she watched the matron take her leave, her brain swelled with grim thoughts. Private matters. Something must have happened to Madame Le Haut. Or Camille. Or perhaps Félicie was caught doing something inappropriate during her visit to the tenement. Odette had, of course, given her foster daughter a lecture on proper behavior before allowing her to go and see Camille, but there was no telling how much of it stayed in Félicie’s head. The girl was perfectly capable of insulting somebody without realizing what she was doing. Besides, Madame Vivier could very well take offense in the orphan just chatting her up. Heaven knows Odette found her babbling annoying when they first met, so why should Camille’s aunt be any different?

Alas, she was probably overstating the problem. Worst case scenario, Madame Vivier will present her with a statement of discontent (to be interpreted as a scolding), a list of measures to be undertaken to remedy the situation (by Odette, of course), and a list of consequences that should follow if the previous list is not adhered to (of which Odette would be the sole recipient). Even if this isn’t the case, no ‘private matters’ of the former Miss Le Haut could possibly be worse than what her sister-in-law had accustomed Odette to, anyway.

Or so the former prima ballerina thought, until she was seated in a damask chair, in a room lit by a cheerful fire, and offered a selection of delicate pastry cut into small, elegant pieces. A servant girl – whom Madame Le Haut must have hired after she had disposed of her, and who had helped her remove her shawl just minutes prior – was pouring tea into two china cups. One was meant for Odette, the other for the Lady of the house – who sat opposite to her, and for some reason found it fitting to treat her like a regular guest.

Odette would have felt less awkward if the other woman spat into her face.

This was not the kind of reception she was used to. Certainly not in this house, where she had worked as a servant not so long ago, and not from a person who had a claim to everything within it. The situation was unusual, to say the least. However, Madame Vivier did not appear to think she was doing anything out of place, and she certainly had a better idea than Odette as to what kind of interactions were acceptable between a high-born Lady and a common cleaner. It was better to take her civilities quietly, at least until she’s explained what this was all about.

Still, Odette couldn’t bring herself to even take a sip of the tea she was offered. She preferred to be cautious.

Finally, Madame Vivier spoke.

“Tell me, Odette – why were you let of?”

This was a tricky question. For one thing, Madame Vivier must already have known the answer, or at least a part of it – Odette could easily picture Madame Le Haut taking delight in describing to her sister-in-law with copious details how she had ‘firmly put the backstabbing scum in her place’. Even if she hadn’t, the former Miss Le Haut could easily have gotten the story out of Camille. In questioning Odette, she could be aiming at filling the gaps in her knowledge, or – and more likely – expected the ‘backstabbing scum’ to owe up to the betrayal and express self-critique, like a proper Christian girl should.

In the end, Odette produced an answer she deemed safe enough – honest, but not overly descriptive.

“I had learned that another girl had seized a letter meant for Miss Le Haut. A letter of acceptance to the ballet classes at the Opera. I did not inform Madame Le Haut”

The Lady of the house considered her with a critical eye. “You have therefore deceived my sister-in-law?”

A part of Odette revolted against the accusation, but she gritted her teeth and adopted an attitude of a person reconciled with her fate. It wasn’t like she had anything convincing to say in her defense. “Yes, Madame”

“It is therefore understandable that she should not wish for you to stay in her service”

“Yes, Madame”

There. She acknowledged that her dismissal was justified. This should satisfy her hostess’s inner missioner.

Madame Vivier took a sip of her tea. “Now, if you don’t mind me asking – what exactly is your connection to Félicie Le Bras?”

Another tricky question. Depending on the answer, Odette could be held accountable for whatever misconduct Félicie committed in this house.

‘I am a mother now’ – the former ballerina reminded herself. – ‘If I have to take the fall for my daughter, I will (it’s not like I haven’t already)’

“She is my protégée” she declared out loud. “I am hoping to adopt her in the near future”

The revelation made Madame Vivier raise an eyebrow. “Oh? Well, that certainly is a noble deed” she decided, swiftly covering up her initial puzzlement.

“Thank you, Madame”

They were silent for a moment. Then Madame Vivier said: “Would I therefore be correct in treating you as the girl’s guardian?”

‘I knew it’ – thought Odette. Out loud she said: “I suppose so, Madame. I know Félicie visited you recently. If she acted out of her place, please let me know and I will discipline her”

The Lady of the house shook her head. “That will not be necessary” she took another sip of her tea, followed by a deep breath, as though bracing herself. “You see, Odette, I am a mother. If a child of mine was involved in an incident, especially one as serious as the collapse of that ill-fated scaffolding, I would have wanted to know what was going on. It is therefore fitting that I should inform you of the proceedings”

Now it was Odette’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Not waiting for a response, Madame Vivier continued. “Régine’s condition is worsening. She is refusing to eat. We cannot get through to her. We have made arrangements to have her placed in an insane asylum. Reportedly, patients do not last long in those institutions”

“I see” said Odette politely. Régine Le Haut may have mistreated her on many occasions, but that didn’t mean she wished for her to end up like this (at least, not consciously). 

“We have also met with Monsieur Eiffel” added Madame Vivier. “We have managed to convince him that he was partially responsible for the incident. He did, after all, leave his atelier unattended, save for two underage apprentices. He has thus agreed to accept a much more modest compensation than the one he had originally wanted”

“This is a good thing” offered Odette, slightly alarmed. She figured Victor and Mathurin will have to bear the consequences of this arrangement, but she couldn’t worry about them at the moment – her hostess was nowhere near finished.

“There is also the issue of Camille. She seems determined to continue dancing. I understand that she should wish to maintain a connection with her mother, even if it is through such indecorous practices. My husband and I have decided to allow it, albeit only within the privacy of her training room. Camille is on the verge of womanhood, and I won’t have her leading men to temptation”

The matron made a brief pause for a drink. As she put the cup down, Odette caught a glimpse of her bitter grimace. “Unfortunately, I am but one woman, and I fear I will not be able to supervise her as closely as I should” she confessed, her pace somewhat slower, but tone heavy with frustration. “With Régine’s imprisonment, all of her responsibilities have become mine. I am not going to complain – this situation has put quite a strain on all of us. Nonetheless, as much as it pains me to admit, my sincerest efforts to raise up to this occasion are proving to be inefficient. I am struggling to reconcile my new responsibilities with family duties. My sweet little Lucien, my poor darling, he’s turned to Camille for attention he couldn’t receive from me. He’s following her like a puppy, mimicking everything she does. He has become fascinated by ballet and wants to become a ballerina”

The matron flinched, her expression leaving no doubt she considered the development her personal failure.

Odette was speechless. It made sense, in a way, that Madame Vivier should keep her updated on matters that concerned them both, but what she was witnessing right now was another woman getting things off her chest. It almost seemed like this high-born Lady chose her – a common cleaner – to be her confidante. What a bizarre turn of events. She had to be desperate.

Having caught her breath and regained her composure, Madame Vivier went on. “Now, this is no tragedy” she declared, without much conviction. “He is only 5-years-old, everything in new and fascinating to him. He will change his mind a thousand times before he grows up. The heart of the matter is that I have neglected my duties as his mother”

These words brought a particularly haunted look to her face. Odette watched her closely, catching hints of uneasiness, shame and distress. Realizing – to her utter surprise – that she sympathized with her. She may not have been a mother figure for too long, but the all-consuming feeling of inadequacy was something she recognized all too well.

“My husband, God bless him, was generous” Madame Vivier continued, not giving the other woman much time to think. “We have discussed the issues and come to the conclusion that I need help. An extra pair of eyes to follow our children when I cannot” at this point she looked her guest in the eye with renewed determination. “This is why I have summoned you here, Odette. I would like this person to be you”

It took Odette a solid moment to register that last sentence. And when she did, it was as if a thunder struck her right in the brain. “Excuse me?” she blurted, completely thrown off.

“I am offering you a job” replied Madame Vivier. “I know Régine had sacked you, and I know she did so for the right reason, but I believe in second chances. Despite obvious faults and shortcomings, you also possess certain desirable qualities. First and foremost, Camille knows you. This poor child needs all the stability she can get, and having a retainer she’s somewhat familiar with will be of benefit to her. Furthermore, judging by the interactions you’ve had with my sons in the past, I feel safe in assuming they will not be tempted by you, nor vice versa. Besides, I don’t think I could bring myself to entrust my poor little Lucien to a complete stranger. It’s devastating enough that I have become incapable of tending to all of his needs. Gérard and Renaud are practically grown men, they have no need for assistance, so it’s only Lucien you’d be required to care for. And Camille, of course. Two children altogether. Does this sound acceptable to you?”

An uncomfortable silence followed this verbal assault.

Odette could do nothing but stare at her hostess incredulously, as the meaning of her words sunk in. A governess? Her? Was this woman for real? Just imagining herself in this role sent her head spinning. Sweet Jesus and holy saints.

The silence was becoming distinctly awkward, albeit only to one of the interlocutors. The Lady of the House remained perfectly calm and composed as she awaited her guest’s answer.

Odette shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough qualifications to be a governess, Madame” she uttered, trying to suppress her shock.

“You can read and write, don’t you?”

“I do, Madame”

“And you know enough arithmetic to plan your expenses?”

“Well, yes…”

“And you are knowledgeable in terms of ballet, I take it?”

“I am indeed”

That she could say with all the certainty in the world. Even if she wasn’t a former prima ballerina, 10 years of cleaning at the Opera gave her enough possibilities to become familiar with the most popular plays, composers and performers.

“Your qualifications are therefore sufficient for the tasks I wish to entrust you with” concluded Madame Vivier. “You shall look after Camille, supervise her training and keep her from harm. You shall inform me of every instance of misconduct on her behalf. You shall also watch over Lucien”

Odette perked up. Supervise Camille’s training? Meaning, coach her in ballet? Did she get that right?

“Now, I don’t expect you to decide right here and now” added Madame Vivier. “Such an opportunity requires thorough consideration. I shall hope to hear a binding answer from you by this time next week. If you reply in affirmative, we shall discuss further details, such as the exact range of your responsibilities, pay, and other benefits. Once we’ve worked out all the nuances, we shall draw up a contract”

There were some more words that followed, but Odette paid them no heed. She was too fixated on a crazy idea that dawned upon her.

Camille’s aunt was not looking for a governess – she was looking for a ballet teacher. A live-in ballet teacher she could disguise as a governess – a profession she clearly deemed more dignified. This unexpected offer could very well have been conceived as means of supporting Camille without compromising her image.

The former ballerina was beginning to understand what it was that Madame Vivier was trying to do for her niece. And she couldn’t help but admire her for it.

Seeing that her guest has come to the right conclusions, the hostess donned a smile of contentment. “Do we have an understanding?” she asked innocently.

For the first time since entering the room, Odette reached out for the cup she was served. The tea had gotten cold, but it was the least oh her worries.

“I believe we do” she declared, whereupon she emptied her cup in one go.


	8. Chapter 8

Odette made her way through the streets of Paris – a process hindered by abundance of snow at her feet and that of thoughts in her head. She was preoccupied, trying to filter Madame Vivier’s actual words from her interpretations thereof.

The Lady needed somebody to watch over her youngest child, and she preferred this person to be a familiar face. Understandable, but didn’t she already have somebody she trusted with her son? From what Odette recalled, Madame Le Haut consulted Madame Vivier on various matters, mostly of economic nature, and quite often. Somebody had to have been watching Lucien then.

She might have been leaving him with a neighbor. If so, moving into the Le Haut tenement rendered this option unavailable.

Well, she could very well dump him onto that new housemaid, the one who’d replaced Odette. Better yet, she could employ a governess – a REAL governess, one who was properly trained and accustomed to tuition.

But then, a real governess was unlikely to have any sort of experience in teaching ballet.

Odette was beginning to understand Madame Vivier’s reasoning. Why employ a well-prepared governess for Lucien AND a professional ballet instructor for Camille, if there was a person in her surroundings who could combine these two functions to a satisfactory extent? The woman wanted to cut the costs, obviously.

Also, she may have figured Odette wasn’t pretty enough to tempt her adolescent sons. Yeah, that sounded probable. Even so, Odette couldn’t be bothered to take offence in the fact. She had real problems to worry about.

Was she ready to accept this responsibility? Did she want it?

She did teach ballet to Félicie, and she did enjoy it, but the whole thing had been a travesty, an absurd experiment. To do it for a living was a totally different thing. Odette may have since gained some knowledge on the theoretical aspects of teaching, courtesy of Louis, but she was nowhere near as prepared for the job as she should. Not to mention, her only student thus far had been a complete ignorant. Camille was technically perfect. What was it that Odette could teach her?

Maybe some acting, for starters? The girl had no idea how to portray a character.

Odette understood the struggle. It was no easy task to combine flawless motions with quirks, gestures, and expressions befitting the designated role. To evaluate your own performance was even more difficult. Some sort of supervision was indispensable for one seeking to master the mime.

‘I could help her with that’ – decided Odette. – ‘Perhaps I could bring Félicie along and have them practice together. That way they’d rub off of each other and become more balanced’

That sounds like a curriculum.

Okay, but what about the caretaking? About Lucien?

Come to think of it, there was an instance when Odette found herself saddled with the boy, two or so years ago. Madame Vivier had come to the tenement with her youngest in tow. The toddler’s fair hair caught Odette’s attention – this must have been the second or third time she saw him at all – and she noted how much he’s grown before returning to her tasks. A couple minutes later Camille appeared, leading the boy by the hand, told Odette to keep an eye on him, and promptly left. The housekeeper figured the mothers had instructed Camille to watch over Lucien for a while, but she had no such intention. The boy was vividly interested in the brush Odette was holding, and wanted to pry it from her hand. Having taken hold of the new object, he sat on the floor and begun to play with it, as if it were a toy ship. It was amusing, in a way, to see somebody giggle so much when scrubbing floor. It was a little less amusing when he decided to scrub Odette. She tried to keep him at an arm’s length, praying to God she won’t cause him any harm in doing so. When he slipped, it almost gave her a heart attack. Fearing he may cry and alarm his mother, she scooped him into her arms and produced a spurt of pleas to the melody of “Papagena”. He went silent for a split second, only to grab a loose strand of hair from her head and pull on it. Hard.

Needless to say, Odette didn’t remember that encounter fondly.

‘He is older now’ – she thought. – 'He should be easier to deal with’

Yeah right. Small children – small problems; big children – big problems.

Odette sighed, as if wishing to let out some steam before her brain overheated.

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter why Madame Vivier had turned to her, of all people. She could employ whoever she wanted, whether it made sense or not. Moreover, her offer was rather attractive. A governess was quite a step up from a housemaid. This job did not involve as much physical labor as the one Odette currently had. A significant factor, given her advanced age. Her current workload may not have been that bad, but she was not going to pretend her stamina and endurance were not decreasing. If there was a chance for her to preserve her health for a little longer, it would be advisable for her to go for it, especially now that she had a child to consider.

The wind changed and a sudden coldness cupped Odette’s face. It immediately got her thinking about her current lodgings. A room in the attic. A classroom re-purposed as a general storage. There was no heater and the huge windows were not entirely tight. Odette and Félicie slept together, several layers of fabrics insulating them from the floor and the chills of the night. The howling wind served as their lullaby. The temperature was dropping, and could very well become mind-numbing by tomorrow.

There were advantages to living in the Opera, of course. Neither the mother, nor the daughter had to wade through thick snow to get to work. Félicie was free to immerse herself in the world of art and expand her horizons. Odette got to catch frequent glimpses of Louis throughout her day. His kind smiles and affectionate glances felt like a balm to her strained muscles. Acceptance of Madame Vivier’s offer would deprive her of this simple pleasure. There would be no way for her to keep seeing Louis. Not unless they married.

The very thought was making her blush.

Governesses – or paid companions – were usually maidens. Sometimes widows. A married woman had no need to serve strangers, since she was being supported by her husband. Also, she was expected to care for her own household and children before anything else. Odette was accustomed to hard work, the idea of balancing professional activities with family duties did not scare her at all. It was the other parties of the deal she worried about.

Would Madame Vivier be willing to employ a married woman as a governess? She seemed open enough to the idea of employing a woman with a child – probably figured she could accommodate the two of them in Camille’s bedroom, since they were all females – but would she accommodate a family of three? Certainly not in the space occupied by her own family. If there was a vacancy in the building, then maybe…? Would Louis be willing to leave his current lodgings and move into the tenement? Would he be willing to have his wife work, when he was perfectly capable of providing for her needs? They’ve only been courting for a month, could she ask him such serious questions?

She didn’t want to pressure him into proposing. She was not even ready to admit she was hoping for a more permanent arrangement. The amorous connection blossoming between them was something precious, something she wanted to cherish and nourish, a chance she could not afford to miss. It was a miracle that he had waited for her, that he still wanted her, after all those years and all the grief she’s given him. There was a time she pushed him away. She couldn’t do this to him again. He deserved better than this. He deserved better than her.

But he loved her. And she loved him.

The former ballerina shook her head, as if that could rid her distracting thoughts. Her obligations were first and foremost to Félicie. The good of the child shall be the main factor behind whatever decision she makes. She could be wrong, of course, but she imagined married couples having an advantage over single women when it came to adoption of children. Félicie’s orphanage is, after all, managed by nuns. She would therefore be justified in pursuing the topic with Louis.

But then, wouldn’t she be using her daughter for personal gain?

She did want Félicie to have a real family. But she also wanted Louis for herself.

Was it really that much of a sin if she wanted to be happy?

Odette felt tears forming in her eyes, immediately cooling and causing a stinging sensation.

This was too much for her to deal with alone. She had to talk to Louis.

(...)

 

Taking advantage of the keys available to all of the Opera’s cleaning staff, Odette lead Mérante to an empty dressing room, so they could converse in privacy. Mérante had bought some croissants for them to consume, but Odette doubted she would be able to enjoy the meal. Her companion took a few bites as she filled him in on the state of affairs, but soon enough the narrative stole all of his attention.

In the end, he was looking at the former ballerina intensely, with the half-eaten croissant in his hand, and the final bite left in his oral cavity.

Odette waited, folding her hands on her lap, actively seeking to stop herself from grabbing a fistful of her skirt. She didn’t want to appear nervous, as it could pressure Louis into comforting her, and she wanted to hear his honest thoughts more than anything else.

Finally, Mérante swallowed. 

“A governess. That certainly is a grand opportunity for you” he offered, his tone cautious.

“It is” she admitted reluctantly.

They went silent for a moment.

Odette could practically hear the wheels turning in Louis’s head. He was examining the same set of implications as she had. He knew as well as she did that governesses had no time for suitors, that this post – while beneficial for Odette’s health – could very well prevent them from seeing each other, putting an end to their romantic affair. The former prima ballerina sincerely hoped her beloved was just as concerned with this possibility as she was.

The ballet master scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That building is a tenement, is it not?” he inquired.

“It is” confirmed Odette.

She reasoned he must have had a good idea as to what options were available to them, and was now reviewing all the variables before deciding which course of action was the most promising.

Judging by Mérante’s face, a seed of an idea was indeed blossoming inside his head.

“You wouldn’t know if they had any vacancy, would you?” he asked on.

“I don’t know” admitted Odette. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “If they did, what would you suggest?”

Could he be meaning to move into the Le Haut tenement to be closer to her? The idea pleased Odette as much as it worried her. She wouldn’t suggest anything like that herself – she couldn’t expect Louis to go into this much trouble for her sake – but if such was his own initiative, how should she respond? It wouldn’t change that much, realistically, as Madame Vivier wouldn’t allow any of her employees to be left alone with a person of the opposite sex within her premises – even if it was a tenant. They could maybe pull it off if they had a chaperone, but this was a short-term solution. No, they should disregard this idea and think of something else. Something more permanent.

Unexpectedly, Louis smiled. It was a wide, sincere smile, a smile that expressed complete contentment and bliss.

Odette stared at him in astonishment.

“I suppose I should be thanking Madame Vivier” he said casually. “With this sudden offer, she gave me the perfect excuse to address a certain matter way sooner than should be considered proper. Besides, if I were to be entirely honest, I believe conventions and other ridiculous notions have cost us enough time”

Having said that, he took Odette’s hands into his. She begun to stiffen against her will. If he noticed, he didn’t let it show.

“Odette, I love you. I adore everything about you. I have never felt so strongly about anybody, and I’m certain I never will. You are, have always been, and shall forever remain the person I admire most of all. And no matter what I achieve or gain, my life, without you in it, will be empty”

Odette sat rigid, her face burning, her eyes drilling into Louis’s, fearing she may have misunderstood him, that this wasn’t what she thought it was.

He endured her questioning glance for a moment, possibly digging into his heart for a little more courage, whereupon he lifted himself off the chaise lounge they were occupying and took to his knee.

Odette thanked God she was seated, or else she may have stumbled. Her legs went weak and her heart pondered like crazy.

Louis’s face varied between nervous and hopeful, and it was with the latter that he delivered the most important of questions.

“Odette Milliner, will you marry me?”

Odette couldn’t believe this was happening. A stinging sensation developed in her eyes, her heart fluttered like a flag in the wind. This moment couldn’t have been more perfect if she had planned it. Louis, her darling Louis, asking her to be his wife, looking at her with such earnest, pleading eyes.

He was so beautiful she couldn’t contain herself.

Disregarding the fair chance of hurting her legs, she pushed herself off the chaise lounge and into her beloved’s arms.

“Yes. Good God, Louis, yes” she managed through her emotion-clenched throat.

Mérante held her tightly, as if never wanted to let her go. He showered her with kisses, struggling to keep a smile off his face. Odette released tears of relief and genuine happiness, as her fiancé’s affection cleaned her of all pressure and worries.

Right here and now, the two of them were each other’s everything, and nothing else mattered.


End file.
